Until Forever Quietly Slipped Away
by Amaryllis D. Namikaze
Summary: My tenth life started with sand, a marriage contract and legally-accepted assassins. It almost made me miss my other bitter endings. Almost. SI - Self-Insert Itachi/OC
1. Prologue

**Complete summary:**

 _I was used to the feeling of being someone I wasn't before. I had had many names. I had pondered extensively over the glitch in my brain that made me remember all of my lifetimes and had given up worrying about it as much as I had been reborn. My tenth life started with sand, a marriage contract and legally-accepted assassins. I was used to adapting quickly, overcoming the odds and simply ignoring the worse outcomes. Still. It almost made me miss my other bitter endings. Almost._

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any of its characters. I do own Chiyuki, though.**

 **Warning: some dark themes, somber thoughts, (somewhat) big age difference in the main pairing, prodigy SI-OC, occasional fluff, cliché ideas (I think), not** _ **exactly**_ **cannon so... AU, I guess. If any of that bothers you, I suggest going away.**

 **Rating** _ **may**_ **go up, you've been warned!**

 **Author's note:**

Hello, people!

For those who read my other SI-OC story, _All Things Are Difficult Before They Are Easy,_ here is the other one I promised in chapter X (or XI, don't remember anymore). Anyway, this story will probably be less updated and with shorter chapters.

(Don't take my words at face value, though. Most of the time, I just end up doing what I want and just warn you guys about any changes.)

For those who are new around here, _hiya!_ I hope you enjoy my way of writing and don't mind my grammatical errors or typos _too_ much. That said, I'm not getting a beta, because that's just too much work. Seriously.

Anyway. Enjoy the chapter!

(There will be a brief explanation about each lifetime at the end of the chapter - don't get so desperate, guys!)

(Beware of the Mother of Linebreaks.)

* * *

 **Until Forever Quietly Slipped Away**

 _By Amaryllis D. Namikaze_

* * *

 **Chapter 1:**

 **Prologue**

* * *

 _"Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, but rather transformed from one form to another."_

\- Law of Conservation of Energy

* * *

My first life was also my longest one.

Despite its memories being much further than any other is, it came very easily to my mind even now. I swear I still remember with glaring clarity the smell of burnt flesh and the cries of joy while furious flames engulfed my body.

History books state that Portugal was one of the strictest countries during the Inquisition. They do not tell you, however, what it feels like to be hunted by your own neighbors and to be accused of witchcraft – which, by the way, was an absurd in itself.

I was a Portuguese girl in my first life. Apparently, I was also a witch.

Really, twenty-three years will never be a long enough lifetime.

* * *

My second life started much, much later. It began in Africa and ended in Brazil.

Even though I lived fifteen years of it, I cannot tell you for sure what I remember. It took me so long to be reborn and I was so overwhelmed by my previous life's memories that, sometimes, I forgot who I was.

I can remember the sun on my face and, for some reason, my brother's tears as we were taken to a ship. I can remember pain and hunger and the smell of fresh bananas. There were colorful birds.

Much too soon, I died. Beaten to death – punishment, they called it. I wonder.

* * *

My third life was surprisingly acceptable. It came faster than the second did, though it ended faster than the first one. I was also a boy, though my body adapted quite quickly.

The United States were colder than Brazil, which took me awhile to get used to. Snowflakes and animal furs were my newest views instead of fresh fruits and singing birds. I had no mother this time around, but my father and my brothers – all five of them – were very present during my sixteen years of life.

I ate more than I ever had and laughed more than I thought I could.

Still, being accidentally shot during a deer hunt was a pathetic way to die.

* * *

My fourth life did not hit double digits, which was a new level for me. I was a girl once again and my past lives' memories were becoming fuzzier and fuzzier each passing day. More often than not, I wondered if my brain was overworking. I wondered if there was something wrong with it in the first place.

I was born two years before the First World War and was French.

In a way, it came as no surprise when I discovered that I would never meet my soldier father. My mother – Mariette, a name that I could remember for one reason or another – loved me very much. When she perished in 1916, my aunt took great care of me.

Spanish influenza managed to take me down even better than the whip of my second life's master. It hurt a lot less, though.

* * *

My fifth life was full of cherry blossoms.

I had no mother or father this time, but my much older cousin – bless his soul – brought me up better than anyone could have. He was a Japanese writer and so we spent most of our days outside our little home, watching people walk past and telling silly jokes to each other.

This life gave me my clearest memories, for which I was grateful. I appreciated the smell of flowers in April and the sweet, sweet taste of dango during lazy afternoons.

I died when I was thirteen years old. It was fast. It also took me being reborn again to discover that the Americans decided to drop a bomb in Hiroshima, my former self's city.

* * *

My sixth life was one of the poorest ones.

I was constantly hungry and afraid. Unlike my previous life, I could not differentiate between all my former memories very well. I had family, my mind could remember that much, but I think they probably thought I was an invalid or simply a retard. I didn't react much.

Sometimes, during my sixth life, I could not remember my actual name. I was sure that it was Maria, but it could also be Harold. During rainy days, I swear it was Neema, but sick days brought Renée to the forefront of my mind. While American soldiers in the Vietnam War were holding me captive, I was certain it was Aiko.

I died as Tien.

* * *

My seventh life was my shortest one.

There was an economic broken Russia, many snowflakes and no food in sight. I was a boy once again, though it did not seem to matter very much. It felt as if my limbs were going to fall off any time anyway.

It took only a couple of years after my birth for me to die. Sometimes, I ponder if I would have wanted to live longer, but a frequently empty stomach did not sound appealing at all.

* * *

My eight life was longer by a year.

There was a plane and two big buildings.

After decades, I was an American citizen once again. My name was somewhere between the lines of Tina and Diana, but I never lived long enough to care or remember. I _do_ recall my mother's cries, though.

I was playing with my Barbie dolls when the passengers started shouting and praying. I was Catholic too in this life, I am sure, but I could not – for the death of me – remember the right words.

It felt weird to die by terrorist hands. Kind of like a horror movie.

A bad one.

* * *

My ninth life was my most normal one. There were no writer cousins or hunting fathers. Not even stakes.

England was rainy. I missed the cherry blossoms and, in a much nostalgic way, the colorful sights of Brazil. Everything seemed further away in cloudy London.

For the first time, I had a television in my room. For the first time, I had a computer. Period. I had time to do what I pleased without having to worry about hunger or death, which hadn't happened ever since Aiko. I experimented a lot and discovered that ballet and singing weren't for me, though gymnastics and karate were.

My father was an engineer and my mother was a Math teacher. The former died when I was nine. The later caused my death.

When I was eleven, Mother sold me in exchange of drugs. Had I been a new soul, I would have probably felt betrayed. Being as old as I was inside, however, made me somewhat numb to feelings like pain or disappointment.

The numbness made it easier to accept the buyer's hands touching my body in such an indecent way. It also made it easier to welcome the darkness that followed.

* * *

My tenth life started with me so weak and so small that I spent the first couple of months thinking I was little French Renée once again, trying to gather all the oxygen I could in my lungs to no avail. There were blurs and hands and voices, but I did not register them at all.

A few weeks after being born, the creepiest feeling started to bleed inside myself and I thought that War had come once again and I was _hungryhungryhungry_ and someone was going to _killmekillmekillme_ and maybe being war-scarred Vietnamese Tien once again wasn't worth it. Voices tried to talk me out of my desperation, but I kept crying all the time - I felt as if they gave up trying to make me calm after awhile.

Days became months and when I finally began to feel as if I could breathe better and perhaps not die from this feeling flowing inside me like a river, one year had gone by.

My clear conscience came to me abruptly, but I didn't startle at the sensation - having lived many times over, this feeling wasn't uncommon. I had learnt that some bodies took more time to get used to and some were just right. This one felt weak - like sick Renée, dying Tien or even always-hungry Mikhail - but it was different, which assured me that I was going to live instead of dying. It felt as if life was being breathed into me slowly.

I discovered, through my never-ending cries, this body could turn its - _my_ \- head and move its fingers. There were tiny teeth and tiny fingers and everything about it was tiny.

My days were spent inside a beige room, not overly big, but aired enough not to feel suffocating. There was a red chair and a gray crib and I wondered where the hell this place could be, because I swear I saw a sandstorm through my locked window once. There was also a woman whose voice I associated with honey and whose arms I linked with 'Mother', being quite content to live it as such. She was pretty, with porcelain skin, pin-straight dark hair and cat-like black eyes, but nothing compared to her smooth voice that melted even the sturdiest iron.

I was unsure of my age when a man finally entered my room with Mother. He looked nothing like her, with his tan skin, rough chin, dark green eyes and auburn hair cut short. His arms and shoulders were as intimidating as his expression whereas Mother had always been only soft and petite.

He approached me cautiously. I pondered why such a broad man was afraid of a mere baby. His dark green eyes assessed me and I blinked up at him, unfailingly curious.

"She's so..." he paused, unsure. "Aware of her surroundings, I guess."

Mother nodded, a hint of a proud smile on her face, "She's been like this for a few weeks now. The doctor says that it's because her hypersensitive chakra ability is receding."

 _Chakra?_ I puzzled over the word. It felt familiar, but my past lives' memories were still sorting themselves. Sweet Japanese Aiko was at the forefront of my mind, faithfully translating the clipped words spoken.

The man stopped looking at me for a moment to glance at Mother.

"She'll be capable of tapping it without hurting herself, then?"

Mother touched my head briefly. Warmth seeped through the very tips of her fingers and I relished in it, even though this land was hotter than even Brazil.

"Ichiko-sensei was worried that Chiyuki-chan wouldn't manage to live to her threes because of this sensitivity. I'm only glad she will."

The man waved his hand in agreement, "Me too."

There was a moment of silence before he opened his mouth once again, this time sounding slightly ashamed and defeated.

"You worried me," and it seemed hard to admit - for him. "When you went into labor three months earlier than you were supposed to, you worried me. I thought you were going to... like Karura..."

Mother put a small hand on his biceps and twisted her lips upwards.

"Karura was a strong woman, but not even she could have survived the sealing of such a strong beast."

The man lowered his head, "It's my faul-"

"Shh," Mother made. "Sometimes, Rasa, it's best to ignore some things and move on. There are times when you can't do a thing at all and there's no sense in agonizing over it."

He sighed, "You're right."

Mother laughed and it sounded like chiming bells. I noticed that despite her light laugh, she didn't say _you're not guilty_ or _it's not your fault_. I wonder if the man noticed it too. He probably did.

"I always am," she said. "I'm glad to be here with you. And I'm glad Chiyuki will be able to live a long life along with her brothers and sister."

The man - Rasa - nodded.

"Temari has been asking me about her little sister for weeks now - says she's anxious to have a girl friend. Kankurō just follows his big sister everywhere and Gaara... well..."

There was a pregnant silence before Mother said, "Gaara is two and dealing with such a big problem. We'll help him overcome it. Perhaps having a younger kid around him will help."

Rasa looked away for a moment, "Chiyuki is like him, though - a premature child. But while he has the One-Tailed Beast within his being, she has nothing but a fragile body with chakra hypersensitivity. I worry about it."

Mother turned her eyes down. I blinked up at them whilst their silence fulfilled the room. I had thought, when both entered through the door, that they were as different as night and day - Mother with light coloring and darkest hair and Rasa with his honeyed skin and burnt hair color. However, observing both of them looking at each other like I wasn't there at all, I realized they simply _fit_.

I wondered if this man was my Father. He sounded like a good man, worrying about his children and everything. I knew better than to hope for it though. Hope was something I couldn't seem to have after so many deaths and rebirths.

"When I first came here I was panicking. I was single, a childless woman and you not only had a an ex-wife but also three children. I thought many things were going to go wrong and I was going to be sent back to my home and everyone would blame me for my failure," she admitted.

I wondered for a brief moment about what she was talking about. Wasn't here Mother's home? A childish feeling of fear of abandonment crushed my heart. Was she leaving? I had lived many lifetimes without mothers, but it's not the kind of thing you get used to. It's something you always earn for.

"And then I came here, met you and everything just... fell into place, you know? I felt silly for spending weeks pondering over the future and preoccupying my mind with nothing but speculations."

Rasa turned his lips upwards, lifting his tanned hand toward her porcelain cheek and the contrast was burning.

"One of my favorite things about you is your way with words," he murmured against her temple, as if telling a secret.

Mother laughed, chiming bells filling the room once again, and I felt as if I intruded on a very particular moment.

They talked some more beside my crib, seemingly at peace in each other's presence and sometimes putting their hands over my small head fluffy with hair. I was strangely calm just lying down there and observing both of them. It had been awhile since I felt this serene. It reminded me of my best moments - when Harold still was Harold and had five brothers, when Renée was still healthy and could play with dolls, when Aiko stopped running around the yard enough time to listen to poetry, when life was good and I was alive.

Sometimes, it felt hard to feel really _alive._ My many lifetimes ended in ways that had not let me live to my fullest, had never let me achieve my dreams, and I'd gotten used to not laughing at times or to feeling abstract while everyone around me was concrete.

But I was breathing once again. Despite all odds, I could feel the constant thumping of my heart and the smell of freesias and the sensation of sand clinging to my skin and _it was just right_.

I had forgotten how it felt to be reborn once again.

* * *

 **First life – Maria:**

Burnt at the stake after being accused of witchcraft

Lived until twenty-three years old

Was a girl

Portugal, Europe

1550-1573

 **Second life – Neema:**

Was a slave brought from Africa to Brazil

Died a few years later due to a heavy beating

Lived until fifteen years old

Was a girl

Brazil, South America

1784-1799

 **Third life – Harold:**

Accidentally shot during deer hunt with his American father

Lived until sixteen years old

Was a boy

To this day, can't think of harming a deer

United States, North America

1854-1870

 **Fourth life – Renée:**

Died from Spanish Influenza

Lived until seven years old

Was a girl

France, Europe

1912-1919

 **Fifth life – Aiko:**

Was a Japanese in Hiroshima during the bomb in II World War

Lived until thirteen years old

Was a girl

Hiroshima, Japan, Asia

1932-1945

 **Sixth life – Tien:**

Was in Vietnam during war against USA

Lived until nine years old

Was a girl

Vietnam, Asia

1960-1969

 **Seventh life – Mikhail:**

Died from starvation and hypothermia in an economic broken Russia

Lived until two years old

Was a boy

Russia, Asia

1991-1993

 **Eight life – Dinah**

Was on the plane that hit World Trade Center during terrorist attack

Lived until three years old

Was a girl

United States, North America

1998-2001

 **Ninth life – Fay:**

Was sold in exchange of drugs by her own mother

Lived until eleven years old

Was a girl

England, Europe

2003-2014

 **Tenth life – Chiyuki:**

 **("Chi" - blood/"Yuki" - snow)**


	2. Lucky

**Complete summary:**

 _I was used to the feeling of being someone I wasn't before. I had had many names. I had pondered extensively over the glitch in my brain that made me remember all of my lifetimes and had given up worrying about it as much as I had been reborn. My tenth life started with sand, a marriage contract and legally-accepted assassins. I was used to adapting quickly, overcoming the odds and simply ignoring the worse outcomes. Still. It almost made me miss my other bitter endings. Almost._

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any of its characters. I do own Chiyuki, though.**

 **Warning: some dark themes, somber thoughts, (somewhat) big age difference in the main pairing, prodigy SI-OC, occasional fluff, cliché ideas (I think), not exactly cannon so... AU, I guess. If any of that bothers you, I suggest going away.**

 **Rating may go up, you've been warned!**

 **Author's note:**

Sooo, guys, I'm back. Hiya!

It took me longer than I wanted to write this chapter, but I _did_ say I would be updating this story less frequently than _All Things Are Difficult Before They Are Easy._ Anyway. Thank you for all the favorites and comments and whatnot, guys, they made my day, like always!

You are just too awesome, seriously.

(I thought I'd never write anything darker than _All Things Are Difficult Before They Are Easy_ , before here I am surprising myself once again. Oh, well...)

* * *

 **Until Forever Quietly Slipped Away**

 _By Amaryllis D. Namikaze_

* * *

 **Chapter 2:**

 **Lucky**

* * *

 _"Here is a small fact:_

 _You are going to die._

 _I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to with me._

 _Reaction to the aforementioned fact:_

 _Does this worry you?_

 _I urge you - don't be afraid._

 _I'm nothing if not fair."_

\- Death, The Book Thief, Markus Zusak

* * *

When I came home from school, she was sitting dejectedly on the floor.

"Mum?"

Startled hazel eyes looked up. Once upon a time, her chestnut colored eyes and he ginger bob-cut hair had been lovely. Now it seemed like everything around her had darkened to a muddy brown. I distractedly wondered how much time it took to suck the life out of someone's body.

It had been a year now.

I approached her cautiously, almost as if she'd snap at me if I moved too fast. It'd happened before.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, stopping me in my tracks.

She looked uncharacteristically lucid for someone who spent so much time drugging herself or drinking to the point of fainting. The thought worried and pained me all at once.

"Sorry about what, Mum?"

My voice seemed young compared to how old I felt, but it also sounded old when I remembered how old I had been the last two times. I was almost reaching teenager hood - it ought to count for something.

"I am no Mother of yours."

I woke up to a beige ceiling and crib bars. I only realized I was crying hysterically when muscled arms wounded their way around my tiny form. With a care I hadn't felt for a long time now, the person lifted me against their chest and rocked me.

"Shh," a voice, rough from sleep, made.

I stopped shedding infant tears, finally getting hold of my toddler body. My eyes found the figure above me, noticing its deep auburn hair before anything else in the dark room.

"What has scared you, my daughter?" asked the man - Rasa, was it? - looking unexpectedly gentle despite his serious, angular face.

'The immediate response came to me in English, which no doubt was little British Fay's fault. My former features - ginger hair, deep brown eyes - seemed all too clear in my mind. Sweet Japanese Aiko discreetly took over my motion and speaking skills, and I was only too grateful to let her thick black hair and soft brown eyes image overlap Fay's disturbed memories.

"Papa," I ended saying, comforted by how much bigger he seemed when compared to me. His huge hands looked capable of destroying anything that threatened my well-being.

Rasa's stunned expression at my words was refreshingly funny.

"You spoke," he realized, baffled. "That's your first word. Kami-sama, your mother is going to kill me for not being here."

And in spite of the bunch of crippled minds behind my conscience, the broken personalities of what felt like a thousand lives, the unfulfilled dreams of nine hopeless dead people, I giggled. There was something old and nostalgic and new and fresh about the sound.

* * *

I realized there was something wrong with this world when I met my siblings for the first time. Given the language, I had thought that I'd been reborn in Japan once again and my father was simply a foreigner due to his different coloring. My memories had been fuzzy when I finally woke up to this life and many words my parents used went over my head, but a few days later, I was sharp once again. I could only be glad this was going to be a clear life instead of a confusing one. Vietnamese Tien had been my worst case of confusion.

Mother had come into my room with a soft smile on her doll-like face, as usual. I listened to her musical voice with attention and blinked at all the right parts. When Father finally appeared on the doorway, I saw a little boy in his arms and two pairs of huge, curious eyes behind his legs.

I had had many siblings over my many lifetimes. I had had been an only child too. If I had to choose, I'd prefer being the youngest child. Harold had been somewhat spoiled, but he had led a pretty good life before dying. Oldest daughter, African slave Neema, however, had suffered extensively over her brother's injuries. Middle child Tien had simply been forgotten as the crippled, retard child.

"Hello, Chiyuki," Father greeted, coming closer.

By now, I was used to letting my body behave as it would if I were my current age instead of letting my mind dominate every action. Thus, it wasn't difficult to extend my arms in my father's direction with a giggle from my mother's lap.

"Papa," I called, appreciating the fact that I had a father once again.

One of the children behind Father went around him, jumping excitedly to try and see me better. She was the cutest thing with her wild, sandy-blond pigtails and dark green eyes much like Father's. One of her front teeth was missing, which only added to the adorable factor.

"Is that my baby sister, is that my baby sister?" She wouldn't stop asking and pointing at me.

Mother laughed. A boy a bit smaller than the blonde girl went over to her, grasping her hand with his own pudgy fingers. He looked as untamed as her with his brown hair all over the place and paint covering his clothes and arms.

"Temari-nee," he called, sounding impatient.

The blonde girl stopped jumping around to observe him with owl-like eyes.

"What is it, Kankurō?" She asked with a voice that wanted to sound grown-up, but only managed to be impatient.

"Why is she so small?"

"It's 'cause she's a baby, stupid!"

"I'm not stupid!"

"Baka! _Baka!_ "

As they argued, I directed my gaze to the last boy, the smallest one, in my father's arms. The first thing I noticed was his ivory skin, paler than the other kids' tanned one. His short hair was as deep red as Father's - perhaps even more so - and his eyes were the most gorgeous shade of green I'd ever seen. Curious black markings around said eyes made me stare for awhile.

"Chi?" He asked, sounding so young and innocent. There was something in his strangely face that made my mind beep in warning.

Mother nodded, patting his head in approval.

"That's right, Gaara - this is your baby sister."

 _Temari._

 _Kankurō._

 _Gaara._

I stopped breathing for a moment, because this couldn't be real.

I had lived nine lives so far, each one a different time of History, which meant that I had had many hobbies and dreams. Renée loved porcelain dolls as much as Aiko loved poetry. British Fay had loved TV series and Japanese animation.

I glanced around, carefully taking note of every person present in the room. The little brown-haired boy and the cute blonde girl were still arguing who was the stupidest, Mother was whispering comforting words to Gaara, Father was smiling at the scene.

I suddenly felt sick.

It was a familiar feeling. When one spends as much time fighting against the odds as I did, one learns to gulp down the uneasiness and keep going. However, this was a new type of sickness. I overcame the taunts and flames, the whipping and punishments, the hunger and illness, the ignorance and prejudice, the pain and hurt - but how could I overcome a whole new world?

 _Naruto_ had been incredible to watch in my last life. I'd loved the concept of ninjas and whatnot. Except real life would never be this pretty and gentle - it would be hard and bloody and disgraceful. There was no way that a world of legally-accepted assassins would be _pretty_ of all things.

Like every time I found myself reborn, I wasn't ready to die. I didn't _want_ to die. I had fought for my life - all of them - countless times and would continue to do so until I found myself permanently dead.

Or so I thought.

Was I even ready to be an assassin? Surprisingly enough, I had never killed before.

* * *

Gaara, I discovered, was both the most adorable and troublesome sibling I'd ever had. Since he was only a year older than me and still a toddler, we spent a lot a time together, just as Kankurō and Temari ran around the house bringing terror everywhere they stepped.

My redhead older brother, however, was a quiet child. He had those huge aqua-green eyes that seemed capable of looking into your soul. He was innocent - when compared to his future self - but the size of his eyes made it impossible to hide his frequent fear.

Being practically a baby, he had no idea of what he was saying most of the time he opened his mouth. Mother was around us during the day and rubbed his head in approval every time he correctly pronounced a word - and his smile was the cutest thing ever. But there were times that I was terrified of what would become of him, because in these weeks we spent in the same play-den, I'd learn to love my new sibling like I'd loved all my past ones.

One day, Gaara looked at me with his eyes shining like two emerald orbs and pointed right at my face, saying with the high-pitched voice of a child who shouldn't know those words, " _Aka chi!"_

I glanced around the living room, observing if anyone had seen the exchange. Mothe was busy preparing lunch in the kitchen, sometimes poking her head in the room to see if everything was alright, but otherwise inattentive. My other older siblings were causing havoc somewhere else today, their voices heard all the way downstairs.

I turned my eyes back to Gaara, who seemed confused at my expression. I probably wasn't making my usual silly smile at him - my forehead was all creased in worry.

"Aka chi?" He asked, now leaning forward to poke my cheek.

Both of us were smaller than we were supposed to be, being premature babies and whatnot, but Gaara still was a two-year-old boy, which meant that his coordination was ten times better than my one-year-old body's. Not to mention that I spent most months into this life thinking I was drowning and dying.

"Chi?" I questioned as a way of replying.

He nodded, rubbing the tip of his index finger all the way across my face and up into my hair. His gestures made me relax, loosening the tension in my shoulders. He wasn't saying _Red blood_ , but calling my name in this lifetime _Chiyuki_. I wondered if the Ichibi would be able influence him with a mother figure around.

It had been such a long time since I was able to spend my time around a peaceful family - complete with Father, Mother, Sister and Brothers - that I was wary of our short time. Was our time even short? Was the Ichibi capable of messing with Gaara's mind if he was loved?

All these questions led me to other questions - doubts that I wouldn't be able to answer until I established myself as a intelligent, aware-of-my-surroundings being. Why was Mother even here? Was this _really_ the _Naruto series_ world? I hadn't connected Rasa and Yondaime Kazekage until I met my siblings, but now that I knew who he was, I couldn't help but wonder if he _was_ the Yondaime? He had seemed sterner in the anime, almost untouchable with his distant personality.

It seemed that all I was certain of was the fact I would live one day at time. I'd learnt many things with all these lifetimes, but the most important lesson was to never prepare for the future, only steel your heart for the unexpected.

* * *

My first months aware of my surroundings ended up being pretty quiet. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't warm days relaxing in the big yard of the Kazekage's property or sharing soft toys with Gaara. I could appreciate, however, how laidback was the start of this new life. Toddler Russian Mikhail wasn't able to say the same.

"Hello, baby girl," Father would say every night when he came home and saw me sitting in the living room. He always seemed sort of tired when he came back, but it looked as if a weight had been dropped off his shoulders as soon as he took off his official hat. The sight worried me as much as Gaara's possible future possession.

"Pa," I answered with a smile.

I'd already become known for my smiles. I'd grin at everybody who as much paid attention to me. This body was comfortable with the environment, thus making it easy to let its instincts control me. It felt good to act like an innocent child once again. The last two years of British Fay's life had been disturbing in more ways than I could count in one hand.

"Did you behave yourself?" He asked, gluing his nose against mine. His skin was tanned as opposed to my porcelain one.

"Pa," I giggled back as a way of a response.

He set me down, taking a moment to rub Gaara's head affectionately before Temari stole his attention away with a whine. I crawled to my redhead brother, fearing his reaction at the obvious distraction away from him, but he was seemingly fine. He actually was a good kid, not minding when our older siblings caught Father's attention.

I wondered if this had happened so many times in the canon story until it became habit and Rasa never paid attention to his youngest son anymore. I wondered if Gaara even remembered something so early on.

Resentment was a hard feeling to take away.

"Gaa?" I called, patting his hand with my pudgy one. The lack of coordination was one of the few things that made me annoyed with infanthood.

He looked at me, emerald orbs filled with curiosity.

"Gaa o-tay?" And wasn't it silly how my tongue tied even though I technically knew how to pronounce the syllables already?

The redhead nodded, murmuring back, confused at my preoccupation, "Okay."

He looked so confused at why - _why, why -_ I was worried over something as trivial as Father looking away from us that I sighed inwardly.

At times like this, I felt as old as my soul. I loved being a child again, being capable of appreciating colorful sights and staying innocent, but my brain wasn't young. _I_ wasn't young. I'd always see the horrors of the world before noticing pretty flowers in a meadow. I was too familiar with the coldness of the winter seeping in your bones, with the sight of blood dying the earth red, with the pain of a human's flesh hitting one another in their bouts of inhumanity, to be really innocent and carefree.

Of course Gaara wouldn't know why I tried so hard to make him feel loved. He was only a toddler, in the end.

* * *

"Chi!" Temari came barreling into my room some days after my second birthday in this world.

I shot up from my toddler bed, surprised. War-scarred Tien growled in frustration, because she could remember all too well when older brothers came back home bloodied or missing a limb or dying or not coming back at all, and the notion of this happening to my blond sister was scary. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. Temari took this moment to approach my bed, jumping in excitment.

"Mommy said we can go out with you and Gaara today," she told me as if she was spilling the greatest secret of the world.

I smiled at her eagerness.

"Mama did?"

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, let's change your clothes and _go out_!"

One would never think that cocky future Temari was such a cute kid, but this was the beauty of childhood, I suppose.

She caught my much tinier hand in hers and dragged me to my wardrobe. Houses in Suna - from what I could see from the my own home's windows - weren't the wealthiest ones I'd seen as of yet. They were all circular or squared, with only official buildings being enormous. The Kazekage's house, for example, was one of the few ones with artificial grass and a giant yard. Space wasn't excessive in Sunagakure, that was for sure, though I'd lived in far worse conditions before.

For a six-year-old child, Temari was pretty responsible. She made sure I wore a light-colored kimono and put a piece of cloth around my neck in case the heat over my head got unbearable. My skin was too sensitive to the scalding Sun in Sunagakure, which meant that I never went out in the yard as much as my older siblings did. I had never walked around the village, for Father had many enemies and considered me too young to stroll around carelessly. I wondered if Mother had been the one to convince him to let me and Gaara go out.

I briefly wondered if he didn't want Gaara to go out because of his tenant.

"All done," Temari announced after brushing my hair.

I observed my reflection with little enthusiasm. I hadn't seen my actual appearance until a few days ago when I saw some baby photos Mother whipped out at my birthday party. I had had so many skin tones, hair types or colored eyes that I couldn't find myself impressed when I saw how I looked in each lifetime. I had loved Neema's coffee colored skin, but I never managed to be born with it again, being European descendant or Asian. I used to adore French Renée's violet-tinted eyes, even though I spent most lives with variations of brown. I simply learnt to adapt and accept.

Really, it's the best thing you can do when you live over and over again.

"You're _so_ pretty," my older sister almost whispered, as if afraid to break the silence. She touched my cheek softly, wary of breaking the skin it seemed.

I didn't have a low self-esteem nor was I overly arrogant. I simply was objective. I knew this lifetime's face was beautiful - in fact, the prettiest so far. Huge, cat-like eyes shone like two onyx orbs, complimenting the porcelain skin and pale pink lips. My deep auburn hair was thick like Japanese Aiko's had once been and settled in my shoulders in baby curls. This body was all dainty, fragile and tiny.

In another life, it wouldn't have mattered. British Fay had also been particularly small for her age. French Renée had been too weak to walk by herself at the end of her short life. Russian Mikhail had been too famished and malnourished to even learn how to walk.

In this life, however, there were too many tangents. I worried about what could go wrong constantly, because I didn't want to have this little, sweet home ripped away from me. In this life, I wanted to have a strong body, capable of achieving great things - or, really, at least do some protecting.

I couldn't blurt all this out to Temari. She would think me crazy. She would probably not even understand the concept of reincarnation at this point. I merely nodded in thanks and let her pamper me for a few more seconds.

She didn't know how lucky she was not to have been born premature in this scarred world. I still wasn't sure how lucky I was to even reincarnate in this world at all.


	3. Threatened

**Complete summary:**

 _I was used to the feeling of being someone I wasn't before. I had had many names. I had pondered extensively over the glitch in my brain that made me remember all of my lifetimes and had given up worrying about it as much as I had been reborn. My tenth life started with sand, a marriage contract and legally-accepted assassins. I was used to adapting quickly, overcoming the odds and simply ignoring the worse outcomes. Still. It almost made me miss my other bitter endings. Almost._

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any of its characters. I do own Chiyuki, though.**

 **Warning: some dark themes, somber thoughts, (somewhat) big age difference in the main pairing, prodigy SI-OC, occasional fluff, cliché ideas (I think), not exactly cannon so... AU, I guess. If any of that bothers you, I suggest going away.**

 **Rating may go up, you've been warned!**

 **Author's note:**

... So. It's been a long time, guys. I don't even have an excuse. I do admit not thinking about this story for awhile, but then I started rethinking the plot to fit into a more enjoyable reading. The first thing I thought was deemed too boring. Now I have other ideas, muahahahahhaha! Well, the core points are still the same, though, no worries there. Everything written until now is still the same.

On with the reading!

* * *

 **Until Forever Quietly Slipped Away**

By _Amaryllis D. Namikaze_

* * *

 **Chapter 3:**

 **Threatened**

* * *

 _"I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me."_

\- Sylvia Plath

* * *

Kankurō wouldn't let go of my hand as we walked down the street, which may have been the cutest thing ever. He kept pointing at every building - not that there were many - and house, trying to sound knowledgeable and mature. It was a sweet effort from my five-year-old brother - even nicer of him when taken into account that two-year-old me supposedly wouldn't remember this stroll later on at all.

Mother seemed pretty calm walking behind us and keeping an eye on everything. Temari was pushing Gaara around, seemingly excited for finally getting to play with him outside our house. Suna didn't have many playgrounds - maybe two or three for the entire village - but the streets were large and uneven, perfect for playing pretend as many children around us seemed to be doing. The merchants didn't even seem to mind when a ball accidentally came too close to their stall, which looked awfully friendly to me.

"Temari-chan!" A childishly high voice called.

Glancing around, I found three children running in our direction. Pretty much everybody in the village shared the same type of features. The hair colors varied from sandy tints to ashy browns, while the eyes were a dark hue of green or chocolate. My family somewhat stood out, as Gaara, Father and I had vivid auburn hair, not to mention Mother's features - porcelain skin, onyx eyes and the deepest black hair I'd ever seen - which didn't fit anywhere in this too sunny place. This trio of children, however, fit the bill perfectly. All of them had hair with the same shade of brown as my elder brother. Their tanned skin probably would only lose to the naturally dark skin of Kumo ninja.

The one who had spoken seemed to be the tiniest of the group. Her deep dark blue eyes sparkled and I noticed that this was her most beautiful feature, taking attention from her somewhat bulbous nose.

"Want to play ball with us?" She asked, pointing to the flashy yellow toy in one of the boys hands.

Temari nodded enthusiastically before pausing, seemingly in deep thought.

"I can't," she decided. "I'm showing my baby siblings around."

The blue-eyed girl looked at us as analytically as a child could. The boy on her right - the one holding the screaming-yellow ball - pointed at Gaara's innocent face without a drop of discretion. The toy fell from his hands, but he didn't seem to notice as it rolled far away.

"Monster," he said, though his tone didn't seem accusing. It was as if he was merely stating an afterthought.

The other boy - a seven-year-old looking kid with beetle eyes and monkey ears - finally spoke, "Mommy said to _aboid_ Tema-chan's brother!"

The girl, who I noticed shared the same ears under her channel-cut hair, pushed him.

" _Avoid,_ stupid," she replied, sticking her tongue out. As they looked a lot alike and were possibly the same age, I wondered if they were twins or at least cousins.

Temari, on the other hand, didn't seem to give a single care about _aboid_ or _avoid_. Her young face scrunched up in displeasure.

"Gaara isn't a monster. He's my baby brother," she argued, entering her brat mode.

Kankurō, still holding my hand faithfully beside me, nodded his head in fervent agreement. I turned to my redhead brother, searching for his face like I had started to do these past few months, but he didn't seem mad at the conversation. The situation probably hadn't settled inside his mind, despite his capability of speech. I pondered for a moment if his three-year-old brain even managed to comprehend the word _monster_.

This was when my heart started to break.

"Why don't you children go back to your mothers?" Mom suggested behind us all. She wasn't the tallest adult I'd ever seen - her frame couldn't be bigger than a hundred and sixty centimeters - but she managed to sound intimidating with her cold, endless eyes.

I frowned. Where had I seen eyes like this before? As her gaze was usually filled with warmth and love, the pitch black orbs had never bothered me before. Observing her narrowed practically pupil-less eyes made me take an unconscious step back. It reminded me too much of little British Fay's murderer and her death scene, which was still fresh in my mind.

Suddenly, I was aware of Mother's status as a ninja. She didn't wear a forehead protector. She had never mentioned having an ability. She never said anything about going on a mission or something of the type. But no civilian was capable of glaring at someone like that - unless they had killed someone with their bare hands.

The children - because that's what they were, what with their silly bullying and taunts - let out terrified squeaks and ran away, completely forgetting their obnoxiously yellow ball.

"Let's go back home, sweethearts," Mom said, taking Gaara's hand with a soft grip.

I dutifully followed Mother as did all my siblings. By the time we got home, her kind persona was back and my oldest sister and eldest brother were back to prancing around demanding toys and food and games.

My skin was strangely itchy. Maybe it was the chakra hypersensitivity - as I heard talking my parents talking about a few times - which was still retrogressing. Maybe it was the reminder of my last death.

Good thing I had gotten better at blocking bad memories and painful reminders by the time seven-year-old French Renée was on her death bed, too feverish to remember her own name.

* * *

The most important thing about bullying: it doesn't always come in this pretty, little package with a set of rules that determinates what is and what isn't. In ninja society, there are no sensible adults to look at a bunch of children surrounding a poor fellow and try to stop them from possibly becoming heartless bastards.

(Sometimes there wasn't such a thing in my first world to be honest.)

Most parents let their children roam around the village and do as they please as long as they came back home at the end of the day. Gaara and I going outside was like a dam exploding. My older siblings could meet all the friends they wanted to and were seldom home during the afternoon. I was left to my own devices, as Mother didn't deem a two-year-old mature enough to go outside by herself. When I turned three, the desire to go outside didn't come anyway.

At the beginning, I didn't mind the solitude. Mom was around, cleaning the house and sometimes taking her time to play with me. I officially learnt how to read - even though I just had to fuss around Japanese Aiko's mind - and how to write. I was taught games that would probably aid me in my future career in the shinobi world. (Because there was no doubt or choice of what I would be.) There wasn't enough stimulation for my too-old mind, but I had learnt how to cope with the boredom of being a baby a few lives ago.

Then Gaara started coming home with shadows in his eyes.

I was no psychologist. I'd never gone to an university before or taken any human-related course. But I had lived through enough hardships to know what is going on someone's mind, to be aware of the desperation someone may be falling into.

I knew all about hopelessness and depression.

It was hard seeing my then four-year-old brother entering through the doorstep with his shoulders hunched and his lips twisted into a confused frown as if he couldn't comprehend _why_.

(Why were people treating him like garbage? Why were they saying those words? What did those words even _mean?_ )

I constantly thought about what I could do. There wasn't much a three-year-old girl could do without it seeming suspicious, even more so in a ninja village. My Father was the leader, but it didn't mean a lot. People didn't care about titles and such when they thought their well-being was threatened. They thought Gaara was a monster, capable of killing and hurting others. The fact that he was the leader's son made no difference.

Of course they also didn't think about how you create monsters. Vietnamese Tien knew all about the process. You shove a few people with horrible mindsets and pit them against each other. The destruction starts pretty much by itself.

By the end of my third year of life in this place, I was completely tormented by guilt and self-despair. I loved my family and the possibilities this place brought, but this was starting to feel like all my other lives.

(Much too soon. I had prayed for a decade in this life - and wasn't that just sad?)

I started to fear that these possibilities of a great life this time around were only that - _possibilities_. And I was tired of possibilities, because I had had nine chances before this one and none turned out right.

Temari was growing apart from the rest of her younger siblings, deeming us too boring and still. Kankurō spent most of his time running around with two boys his age, orchestrating plans and causing mayhem everywhere they went. Gaara stopped going outside.

Father and Mother sometimes argued in the living room during the dead of the night, their voices no more than furious whispers. Most of the time, I couldn't comprehend half of what they were saying from my spot in the corridor, but once or twice I listened to their worries and thoughts.

" _There's nothing I can do about the villagers!"_

 _"Gaara isn't himself anymore."_

 _"Perhaps we should send him to a child psychologist."_

 _"We need to give him more attention."_

 _"The council wants him gone."_

 _"... They call him a failed experiment."_

I had always known about how easily people turn against each other. I wonder why it still hurt so much, though. Some lessons were harder to swallow.

* * *

By the time I turned four, Temari was old enough to enter the Academy. Kankurō spent days crying about how he, too, wanted to go. He stopped shedding tears quite quickly after our sister called him a crybaby who couldn't let go of Mother's skirt.

I was sent to the hospital for a last check-up in my chakra hypersensitivity and the medic-nin declared me well enough to practice the ninja arts when my parents deemed me ready. As they had no plans of training any of my siblings before we reached the right age - eight - to start education, I suddenly had a lot of options of what to do and of free time.

Father had crouched down in front of me a couple of hours before Temari's first day of school and sent a smile in my direction. I giggled back, trying my hardest to keep an upbeat attitude, even though most of my other lives' mindset shifted uncomfortably at the notion.

"Hey, Yu-chan," he said, his baritone voice soothing as a warm bath. "You're a big girl now and can go outside by yourself as long as you came back home by six. Ok? Do you remember the way to our house, sweetie?"

I nodded, faithfully sticking to my dutiful daughter persona. Faking wasn't hard at all for me. I didn't even have a core personality most of the time. Technically speaking, twenty-thee-year-old Portuguese Maria should be my most truthful personality, but reality didn't work like that. It was all too easy to slip into Aiko's sweet point of view or to sink into toddler Russian Mikhail's desperation.

"Let's go, Dad!" Temari shouted excitedly from the entrance.

"Did you say goodbye to your siblings, Temari?" Mother asked, smiling at my sister's glowing appearance. Even her sandy shade of blond seemed to shine today.

"Uh," Temari made, turning around to wave at us three. "Bye, Kankurō-chan, Gaara-chan, Yu-chan!"

And as the door closed, Kankurō complained in his brattiest voice, "Don't call me _chan_!"

I turned to Gaara, grasping his hand with my tiny fingers. His skin was as pale as mine, though most of our similarities ended there. Except for his skin tone, his face was a lot like Father's with a few traces of Karura's facial structures. I had Father's deep auburn hair, but everything else was my Mother's. He was taller than me, but was as thin and frail-looking.

Inside my head, I reasoned all the time that there would come a time that Gaara wouldn't look so fragile. He'd grow up to be a strong man with good principles. It didn't make my worrying any weaker. It was simpler to look at his bony elbows and skinny legs and imagine a scared kid tormented by his bullies.

Which is why my heart practically melted when his eyes perked up at our joined hands.

"Chi?" He asked, not sure of what I wanted, but content all the same. His nickname for me had stuck, even though our parents tried to make him call me Yu-chan like everyone else in family did. I could understand why parents wouldn't want one of their kids literally calling the other 'Blood', but I didn't mind my brother's affectionate nickname.

"Let's play in the garden," I suggested, glancing around for the rubber ball we kept in the house. Kankurō usually took it outside, but today it lay forgotten by the armchair.

Gaara nodded, his eyes wide in excitement, "Okay."

His innocent expression reminded me why I didn't mind being big sister-like too much. Being an only child was lonely and being a middle was just the right amount of problematic. The youngest usually had it the easiest, which made me desire this position more than I did the others. Every once in a while, though, usually when I was around Gaara, African-slave Neema came back and rejoiced in the older sibling feeling.

Our yard was a privilege in Suna, where most houses didn't have one. The sun was unbearably hot over my head, heating my thick tresses and burning my white-papery skin. Gaara looked happy playing ball with me, though, so I bore with it. These kind of afternoons made me hopeful, which could be dangerous. Expecting goodness was always a bad path to follow. It was easier not to be disappointed and heartbroken when you didn't have any expectations.

I stopped for a moment, almost missing the ball Gaara threw to me. The next second, it was as if nothing had ever disturbed me. I smiled and laughed at my brother's antics, but my heart was pounding wildly in my ribcage. No matter how many death-threatening experiences I went through, my brain would never stop sending me messages to _get a grip and keep moving!_

I threw myself at Gaara just as a kunai dug deep into the ground I'd been seconds before. He looked startled like any five-year-old under such a situation would be, but there was no time for explanation. A man flickered away from his hiding place to in front of us, slashing at our necks with a tantō. I pushed Gaara back, practically throwing his frail body with all my strength, and ducked. I saw more than felt when auburn strands of my hair were cut, failing around my figure like snow.

The man wasn't recognizable with a blank mask on his face, but his skin was dark enough to have come from a Northern nation. His chakra felt gross over my skin, as if I'd been covered in a gooey, sticky substance, and its killing intent made me want to gag. I had felt the taste of death and illness and madness before, but it didn't make me stronger in the best sense - it just made me _traumatized_. All my deaths flashed before my eyes when I was in a stressful situation.

His tantō once again came towards me like a furious fang and I could only think _Gaara!_

A wall made of sand had been erected in front of me, lodging the blade and effectively stopping it. I had a quick second to check on my brother and see how terrified he looked, completely oblivious to the fact that he had saved my life, before the man moved on the other side. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and kicked at my gut as the sandy wall fell away, concocting around Gaara solely. Shukaku's protection didn't befall on me, as only Gaara held him and the power to keep him alive.

I flew a few meters, but even before I hit the ground, the man was over me, a heel planting itself on my stomach. I coughed harshly, rolling all with pure might to avoid the next killer kick. He reached for another kunai in his pouch and that was when I snapped.

This body was ridiculously tiny, but even little British Fay had managed to learn karate enough to win competitions. The steel blade stung as it scraped against my bony arm, but I latched onto the assassin's leg with viciousness. I noticed that his chakra was still muted, as if suppressed, so my Mother would never realize with her normal range of sensing. My hypersensitivity made it easier to pinpoint chakra, which had made me dodge in the first place, and made it easier to control my own. With vengeance, I sent a flare of desperation, hoping that Mother had felt it.

The assassin obviously did, as he cursed, slashing at my shoulders and hands with hatred, while I held on as if my life depended on it. I was small enough to cause trouble and imbalance.

"YOU LITTLE FUCKER, GET OFF ME!" He shouted, throwing his silent-cover away.

As just I saw my Mother barreling through the front the door, her pitch black eyes set ablaze, I looked up at my assassin's face for enough time to notice how each strand of his wild, dark hair formed an individual curl, to see how his lips shaped against his mask in snarl and, most important of all, to glare at him with all my might, feeling the rebelliousness nine lifetimes could gather.

The world was clearer than ever before black spots filled my vision and I fainted.


End file.
